On Doing More

Since my son died, doing things has become something that I do out of necessity, not because it's enjoyable or gives me pleasure.  It's SO much easier to be a watcher than it is a do-er.  Watching takes little energy, and that's about the speed I've been running lately - little energy.  It's coming back slowly, and I still have days where it's easier to do nothing, but at least it's better than it was.

On Friday, I took a stroll through Riparian Preserve, and took about three dozen photos.  But I think my camera battery died in the middle of it, and I ended up with only 5 good photos.  But it was a 37 minute walk according to my FitBit so that's something!

When I uploaded to my computer and got a good look at them, I realized that there is usually only one subject in the photo, and that many of them seem to be suited to black and white - dark and a little edgy.  Perfect description of my moods.  And then I had another thought:  maybe I needed to take them a little dark and edgy and get it out of my system.







It was an overcast day,
so maybe that was a part of it.

Accepting What Is

I am following an online "seminar" called 12 weeks of peace.  It's based on grief, losing a loved one, and how to move on in life.  (If you're grieving, or having trouble getting past some old grief, click here and sign up. )  Each week there's a lesson for the upcoming days - one for each day.  The first few weeks were "easy" for me, because I was already doing many of their suggestions:  writing in a journal, creating a website, posting photos, etc. 

The harder part has been what happens after some time goes by.  It's like no one wants me to talk about Brian, or maybe in their own grief path, they're not ready to hear about him.

This week's lesson included the following:

"There is no guarantee that you will to heal. No book, pamphlet, or poem can ensure it… only you can.

Healing is a choice, and not healing is a choice.

There are so many resources available, and you can choose to take advantage of them when you’re ready. You can choose to remain open to the ones around you. It will not be easy, but that just tells you how significant your loved one IS (not was) to you. Be the fighter they want you to be, and choose to face your pain. Every day it will get a little easier, until suddenly it’s bearable. And you can enjoy your life again."

Brian's last words to me mentioned that I'm a strong person and to be strong for him.  Some days it's harder than other days.  But each day I try.  Some days I fail.  But I pick up the pieces and continue on.   It' the little things that help.  Today, I walked in a park that Brian and I frequented.  Yesterday, I planted some spring flowers in the backyard.  Even though he's not here to help, I moved forward on getting the roof replaced.  I don't always want to do what needs doing.  Some days, I just sit on the couch and veg.  But then I remember that things need to be done, and I'm the one who has to do it.  

It's not easy accepting that he's gone, never coming back

It's not easy letting go of what happened, letting go of the "what if's"

So I'm left with having faith in what will be

And that has to be enough